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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25029478">Some Turn To Dust Or To Gold (AKA 31 Days of Apex)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty'>ScreechTheMighty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We Could Be Immortals [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Apex Legends (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amnesia, Angst, Backstory, Body Horror, Dancing, Depression, Drabbles, Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, Existential Dread, F/M, Family Dynamics, Fic Challenge, First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Plants, Rating May Change, Scars, Singing, Slice of Life, Tattoos, Titanfall 2 cameos, Trust Issues, family death mention, gratuitous freddie mercury reference, happy stims, headcanons, latino!Mirage, revenant being an edgy asshole, slipping in current day pop culture because I do what I want, tags to be updated as fic progresses, yes Ashwin is in this one too shut up</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:08:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,994</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25029478</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A selection of drabbles for the 31 Days of Apex prompt list as seen on twitter (because I love a good prompt list and I wanted to be included).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Crypto | Park Tae Joon &amp; Wraith | Renee Blasey, Lifeline | Ajay Che &amp; Octane | Octavio Silva, Lifeline | Ajay Che/Octane | Octavio Silva, Mirage | Elliott Witt &amp; Jack Cooper (Titanfall), Mirage | Elliott Witt &amp; Wattson | Natalie Paquette, Mirage | Elliott Witt/Wraith | Renee Blasey, Pathfinder &amp; Original Character, Wattson | Natalie Paquette &amp; Wraith | Renee Blasey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We Could Be Immortals [16]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1436959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Memory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Of note: most of these fics will be following my Apex Legends Fic Canon (AKA the "We Could Be Immortals" series), so if you notice any discrepancies with the actual canon, that's why. Also, they're all going to be drabbles because I cannot commit to anything longer 31 days in a row. I'm probably going to have to make up days as it is. Anyways...here's the first fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Never get a tattoo with anyone. Just go on your own.</em>
</p>
<p>There was a reason she always gave that specific bit of advice.</p>
<p>The tattoo hadn’t happened all in one sitting, of course; something that big never did. But Ajay had gotten most of the initial outline work done the same day that Tavi had gotten his <em>Plus Ultra</em> tattoo. They’d spent the entire time chatting back and forth, making jokes to distract from the pain. She could still remember the furious clicking of his practice butterfly knife as he twirled it around one hand, periodically punctuated by him swearing when he dropped it. He’d been so impressed by how much the tattoo covered. <em>That’s really gonna piss off your parents,</em> he’d said.</p>
<p><em>They’ll live</em>, she’d replied with an eye roll.</p>
<p>He’d come to later sessions, too, for as long as the tattoo artists could stand him. Pacing around the room, sometimes spinning in a chair, sometimes filming, always talking. It had taken the sting out of the pain, made the whole experience more fun.</p>
<p>Those had been good memories.</p>
<p>
  <em>Had.</em>
</p>
<p>It wasn’t like the tattoo was ruined for her forever after she blocked him. It was still hers—her design, her choice of placement, all her idea. She didn’t regret it and she still loved how it looked. But there were moments, small times that she looked at her arm, her shoulder, and remembered the good times. Back when they still trusted each other unreservedly. Back before he’d lied to her like he had, and made light of the whole thing.</p>
<p>Ajay didn’t regret the tattoo. But sometimes she regretted getting it with Octavio there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Figured I'd crank day two out as long as I'm still awake and it's technically the second.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She had been injured a thousand times in a thousand ways. She knew what her own blood tasted like more than she really ought to. Wraith thought that not much phased her.</p>
<p>Then she scraped her knees, completely by accident. Literally, she tripped while trying to run across the Apex Legends compound and fallen. The leggings she’d been wearing had done absolutely nothing to protect her.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re okay?” Elliott asked for roughly the fiftieth time since he’d started bandaging her wounds. He was in the process of cleaning her knees, making sure that all the grit was out so she wouldn’t get an infection. “You had a regen last week, I just d-don’t know if…”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Wraith said distantly. She had been trying to bandage the scrapes on her hands, but she’d given up on that already. Instead, she was watching Elliott. Watching her knees.</p>
<p>Something about the scrapes on her knees made her stomach twist. It wasn’t the sight of the blood trickling from the wound as Elliott picked free another piece of asphalt. It wasn’t even the pain. She’d had worse. It was something about the situation…</p>
<p>Scraped knees. Shaking from the stress of whatever had happened (<em>running, hiding, trembling someplace dark</em>, <em>wait, wait, wait</em>). Hands carefully cleaning the wounds. Brown eyes…different eyes, but <em>so similar</em>…</p>
<p>“Are you sure you're okay?”</p>
<p>Her knees were bandaged now. The edges of the memory still clung to her mind, but there was nothing else. It was just a stain on her mind, like the pink and red starting to soak through the bandage. A faint mark of something greater.</p>
<p>“I’m okay,” she said quietly. “I promise. I’m okay.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, this is me alluding to future plans for future fics.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Mercy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She could’ve stabbed him.</p><p>She probably <em>should</em> have stabbed him. It was a free-for-all out there, and she’d already had to fight off three other fighters. He wasn’t armed, she’d caught him off-guard, it would have been <em>so easy</em>…</p><p>
  <em>don't</em>
</p><p>She hesitated.</p><p>It should have meant her death. But instead of punching her or pulling a hidden weapon, the man held up his hands. “Easy, <em>easy…!</em>” he squawked. “No need for that!”</p><p>Wraith wanted to laugh. They were trying out for the <em>Apex Legends</em>. There was <em>every </em>need for this. Before she could outwardly react one way or another, the man kept talking. “Hey, listen, there’s <em>literally</em> nothing in the rule book that says we can’t team up. And, uh, since top fifteen make it in, uhm, I think it would really behoo…be…buh…” He swallowed, hard. “It’d be a good idea for us to team up.”</p><p>
  <em>…is he really doing this right now?</em>
</p><p>Wraith’s grip on her knife tightened. Her eyes narrowed as she considered his offer. He looked genuinely shaken; she <em>had</em> seen other people working in teams, two’s or three’s.</p><p>It <em>would </em>be a lot easier if she had other people working with her.</p><p>“…if it’s down to fourteen people on that hill, I won’t hesitate to take the spot,” she warned him.</p><p>“And that’s fair! That’s completely fair. But, uh, I should warn you, you’ll have to fight two people if it’s down to fourteen. I got another guy to team up with me. Well, a robot, but he’s useful.”</p><p>Wraith frowned, confused. “There’s a robot?”</p><p>“Yeah. MRVN, if you can believe it.” The man laughed, half genuine, half nervous. “That’s how it works in the real fights, right? Three people to a team?”</p><p>He wasn’t wrong.</p><p>There was a part of her that wanted to stab him and take her chances with the MRVN. But she knew that there was a social element to Apex Legends. If she wanted to make it, she’d have to start making allies. <em>Not</em> friends, but allies.</p><p>She lowered the knife. The man breathed a sigh of relief. “<em>Sweet</em>…thank you. Uh, I’m Elliott. They’re gonna call me Mirage. What’s your name?”</p><p>Wraith ignored the question. “You want to tell your MRVN buddy not to shoot me?” she said instead.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, right.” Elliott walked to the door—willingly showing her his back, what an <em>idiot</em>—and peered out it. “Hey, Pathfinder, you still alive?”</p><p>Wraith heard the grinding of metal as someone approached. “Hello, friend Elliott!” said a robotic voice. Wraith saw the figure pass in front of the window. Damn, that really <em>was</em> a MRVN. What was a MRVN doing here? “Are you all right?”</p><p>“Uh, better now. I made us a new friend. Didn’t get her name, but don’t shoot her, maybe?”</p><p>The MRVN peered past Elliott (no, Mirage, she had to keep this professional). “Hello, new friend!” he called. “You can call me Pathfinder. What’s your name?”</p><p>Damn it. She really wouldn’t be able to dodge the question. “Wraith,” she said finally. “Just…call me Wraith.”</p><p>Mirage grinned. “<em>Wraith</em>, I like it. Spooky. Goes with your…is that a goth look?”</p><p>“You talk too much,” Wraith said bluntly. She fully sheathed her knife, finally. “Come on. We should go.”</p><p>“Okay, okay…uh, do you have any heavy ammo? I really need heavy ammo.”</p><p>He wasn’t going to shut up, was he?</p><p>
  <em>I really hope I don’t regret not killing him.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I may write a full-blown version of this chapter later, but this IS, in fact, the first meeting that I referenced in "<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044633">Je n'ai qu'un seul et unique regret</a>" just from Wraith's POV. (Also, I promise, I will try to write more things that aren't the OG Trailer Squad. I just...love them so much.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Prize</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Neurodivergent Squad *Sailor Moon poses* <i>activate.</i></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You know those things are rigged, right?” Mirage said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Natalie looked up at him with wide eyes. “Rigged?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Si,</span>
  </em>
  <span>the hoop isn’t a circle,” Octavio said. “So you have to get it right in, or it will just bounce off. Nothing but net.” He bounced from foot to foot as he stared down the hoops. “I suck at basketball. Witt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Myehh.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Elliott tilted his hand from side to side. “It’s a lot of luck. And not so great at the direct shots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are they </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>rigged?” Natalie interjected. She sounded betrayed. It was kind of funny, but Octavio really did feel bad for her. “Why would they do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Money,” Octavio and Mirage said at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jinx</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Octavio said before Mirage could. “You owe me a soda.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mirage glared at him before turning back to Natalie. “I mean, I can give it a shot if you want one. Can’t promise I’ll do any good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I don’t want you to waste your money.” Natalie looked dejected. She was probably trying to hide it and just doing a terrible job. “I can probably find something similar in a store.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>True</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but that wasn’t the point, was it? It was the experience...or something. He didn’t know; his parents had never taken him to these kinds of things. He’d gotten the chance to shoot hoops to win a giant stuffed bear while the many, many fried foods he’d already eaten turned into a solid brick in his stomach. He knew that trying would probably be a waste of money, but…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Screw it. Full fair experience. Let’s go.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Octavio fumbled at his pockets for his wallet. “I’ll try,” he said. “I like a challenge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Octavio, you don’t have to…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shhh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that hoop insulted me. I have to beat it.” He jogged to the booth and passed the bored-looking teen running it a few dollars. “Hit me, my dude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The teen wordlessly put a bucket with three small basketballs in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Octavio realized the next problem the second he picked one up. They were basically little kid toys, small </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> light. He was going to have a hell of a time trying to sink one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Octavio picked one up and aimed carefully for the hoop marked for the top prize. He’d played basketball before; he wasn’t the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he had made direct shots before. He took a deep breath, aimed…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ball bounced off the rim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Okay, two left. He picked up the next one. Aimed more carefully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, man, you’ve got to look cool. You can do this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tossed the ball.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It swished through the net like a knife through butter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“ Let’s go!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He grabbed the next ball and threw it triumphantly. It bounced off, but he didn’t go. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hah!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The teenager remained unimpressed. He just passed Octavio the toy he’d indicated, the one that Natalie wanted. His lack of excitement was made up for by Natalie’s excited bouncing and flapping, and the genuinely impressed look on Mirage’s face. “I believe this is yours,” Octavio said, holding out the toy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Natalie kept bouncing as she took the toy. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Merci beaucoup!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mirage said, holding out his fist. “I helped, of course. Moral support.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Octavio snorted, but did give him a fist bump. “Sure you did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Making the shot had only been a temporary rush, and his brain was already looking for a new distraction somewhere in the fair. But between Natalie’s persistent beaming and Mirage expressing genuine respect? Yeah. Best five bucks he’d ever spent.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sometimes, she envied Octavio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated his family. It was easy to understand why; he went through a rotating circle of moms, each one worse than the last, and his father was an absent, emotionally neglectful piece of shit. The fact that their pharmaceutical company also engaged in questionable practices was just the cherry on top of them being terrible to live with. Half the time, she didn’t even think he cared about that part most of the time; he just used that against them when he was fighting with them. But still, he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Ajay’s parents weren’t like that. They had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> parents--attentive, encouraging, supportive of most of her decisions up until the time she was sixteen and learned how, exactly, they got her money. Even after that moment, when she started fighting with them,  when she started getting tattoos and hanging out with Octavio and said that she was joining the Frontier Corps--they were never overly harsh. Never mad, just disappointed, no matter what she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t hate her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes she wished they did. It would be easier that way--if they treated her as carelessly as they had everyone else in the Frontier. But they didn’t. They loved her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she still loved them, despite knowing what they were. What they’d done in the name of </span>
  <em>
    <span>making a profit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried not to dwell on it too much. It shook her up, made her second-guess more than just her relationship with them. But sometimes she couldn’t stop dwelling on that disconnect between the parents who loved her and the people who’d profited off the deaths of so many. Even though she was an adult. Even though she knew people were complicated, that they could be more than one thing at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just hoped one day she’d be able to come to terms with it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So this fic was inspired by <a href="https://viliantart.tumblr.com/post/621941117022257152/family-photos-first-meeting">this fanart</a> I saw on tumblr. I thought the depiction of Lifeline's family was really interesting and found it way more fascinating (and tragic) if she actually had a GOOD relationship with her parents before she found out what they did for a living. Also, makes her a good contrast to Octane.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Noise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So, what’d you like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashwin stopped fiddling with the sobriety coin in his hand and looked back behind the bar. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back when you had a mouth.” Elliott leaned against the bar as he took. He didn’t look too much like Cooper, but sometimes he’d do something small, like tilt his head when he was curious, and any shared traits they had became uncanny. “What’d you like to drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I didn’t drink, actually. I had a pretty severe genetic alcohol intolerance, and I was taking mood stabilizers on top of that. Not worth the risk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why do you hang out here? I mean, not trying to kick you out or anything, just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ashwin looked around the room. The bar was in the wrong place and everything was cleaner. The decor was trying a bit for classy, too, which threw the vibe off. But if he shut off his eye and just listened…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scraping of bar stools, people shooting the breeze in one corner and arguing in another, the sound of heavy beer glasses hitting wooden tables, alcohol being poured into glasses, people flirting, people getting rejected, a bouncer somewhere calling someone a cab...all were deeply familiar. He’d spent years of his life around those sounds. Being near them again was comforting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right up until the moment when he expected to hear a different voice behind the bar. Older, rougher, more world-weary. Even after two years, it was weird to not hear him there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, until that moment…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just feeling nostalgic.” Ashwin’s hand squeezed around the coin. “That’s all.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was going to make this one about Natalie until I realized that a lot of people were taking that route, and my inner Hipster kicked in and made me do something else. I really need to finish writing my Ashwin Narita Backstory Fic, especially since I cut his character motivation speech from "caught between forever and nothing at all." (Short version: Barker basically saved his life so it's a sensitive issue for him.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Mask</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They all pretended to be someone else in these games, to varying degree--be it a well thought out  gimmick or a full-blown persona. Even Wraith put on a different face when she was in front of the cameras: more confident, leaning in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>mystery</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Wraith, Apex Legends Champion. It kept her safe; made people think they knew her, when they really didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But no one wore the mask quite like Elliott.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sometimes hit a point where she felt like she was interacting with two different people. Mirage: overconfident, flirty, extroverted, larger than life (or trying to be). Elliott Witt: uncertain, far more introverted than anticipated, and the sort of mushy romantic who left her paper letters in her locker and fumbled his way through talking about the number of kids he wanted one day. In public, her relationship with him was more antagonistic--still friendly, and of course some of their true feelings snuck through, but definitely exasperated. In private, they had agreed two kids would be a good place to start.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wraith was okay with that split. She understood why he wore the mask in public, the personal and professional reasons why Mirage existed. What she didn’t like was when Mirage started showing his face outside the arena. It was never in a big way, but in all these little ways that put stress on the relationship. The overconfident, incessant banter. The too much, too often flirting. The egotism blatantly masking insecurity. All the straws  that made her feel like she wasn’t in the relationship she’d entered originally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Usually, she didn’t say anything. She knew when Elliott acted that way, it was because of something else going on. She tried to be understanding, to guide him out of whatever had shaken his confidence, to help him with the actual problem and not just complain about the symptoms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But sometimes, she wasn’t having a great time, either. Sometimes the voices were too loud and her head ached from lack of sleep and all she wanted to do was </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to him. But there he was, sitting right next to her but feeling fifty feet away, talking about something that sounded more like pre-match banter than it did an actual conversation and she just…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Elliott, am I talking to Mirage right now or my boyfriend? Because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> need to be talking to my boyfriend right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hadn’t meant to say it like that. The words just flew out. Within seconds of saying them, she remembered why she wasn’t usually so blunt about it. Watching his face go from confused to defensive to dejected and self-blaming made her feel worse than she already did. “I’m sorry…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, don’t, you’re right. I’m doing it again.” Elliott rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wraith shook her head and moved closer. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno. Rough week. I think I still took the last loss hard. Uhm, what about you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s June. I always feel like shit in June. No idea why. Something must have happened that I don’t remember.” She leaned into his embrace when he wrapped an arm around her. “So. We’re both having a bad time. What should we do about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh.” Elliott laughed weakly. “I don’t know. I don’t. I used to just drink a lot, watch TV alone in my room, and cry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least you were drinking something. I wouldn’t get out of bed at all.” Wraith laughed weakly. “You want to get out of the compound for a while?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can they </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span> us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...good point. My mom’s been asking when you’re coming over again for dinner, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like that. Let’s go see Evelyn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wouldn’t be enough to jar them out of their respective moods entirely. But if there was one person who could get Elliott to take his mask off, it was Evelyn Witt. And being in that home was one of the few times in her life Wraith felt like she belonged somewhere. She needed that then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a step down the right path. She just hoped they could make it the whole way.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Broke: Relationships where both parties have trauma that's just there to create endless drama.</p>
<p>Woke: Relationships where both parties have trauma that they help each other through in a mature and healthy fashion.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Healing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994477">This fic has some context about my Wraith scars headcanon.</a> It will get more explanation in later fics.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first time Wraith wore short sleeves and no gloves in public, she felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin from anxiety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one said anything about the scars, but she could swear she felt them more than ever that day. The stretch, the pull, the discoloration all stood out like a giant cut on her face. She went about her errands as quickly as possible, went home, put on one of her hoodies (okay, it was one of Elliott’s that she’d stolen) and tried to pretend it didn’t happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second time wasn’t much easier. There almost hadn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>been</span>
  </em>
  <span> a second time, but she wanted to go shopping and it was too damn hot out for long sleeves. She’d suffered her way through the summer heat in the past, but she was tired of it. Tired enough to risk that feeling of exposure that came with showing her arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again. No one said anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a part of her that was convinced everyone was thinking about them--that they’d all noticed, that they thought differently of her. But she pushed through those thoughts. One tip Elliott had passed on from his therapist to her was that she couldn’t allow anxiety to bully her--do whatever it took not to dwell on it. Redirect your thoughts. Positive self-talk was a good place to start.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re nothing to be ashamed of.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No one is going to think any differently of you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re a sign that you survived.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was the most encouraging thought. It didn’t change her outlook overnight, but it helped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kept wearing short sleeves, kept the gloves off. The only person who said something was Elliott.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so your muscle definition is making me look like a weakling.” That wasn’t true--Elliott might not have had a six-pack, but he definitely didn’t skip arm day. She appreciated the compliment, though. “You trying to give Bangalore a run for her money?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think I’m capable of that. It’s actually just…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hesitated. Caught herself rubbing the scar on her wrist and made herself stop. “...trying to move forward with some things,” she said quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elliott didn’t ask. He didn’t have to. He just took her hand and gently kissed the palm. “Good,” he said quietly. “I’m happy for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the only attention anyone had paid to the scars ever since she ditched the gloves. It was also exactly what she needed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Weapon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“We’re just killing machines, you and I. We’re the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other simulacrum didn’t look up from the weapon he was cleaning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Revenant felt a burst of irritation. He’d hoped that the simulacrum--Ashwin Narita--would be easier to play with. His initial outburst and distrust had been a lot of fun. But now, he had resorted to ignoring Revenant. Any attempts at getting into his circuitry, really drawing out that first burst of rage he’d shown when they’d run into each other again, had been met with silence. He was more resilient than Revenant had first thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No matter. There had to be something that would make him crack, and Revenant had all the time in the world to find it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You weren’t even a soldier before they got to you, were you? They made you that. Stuck all that pretty piloting programming in your head, gave you all the bits and pieces to kill. That’s not you. That’s what they made you. Just like they made me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Narita still didn’t look up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pesky little bastard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think you’re really you? You’re not a skinsuit anymore. Embrace it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ashwin sighed, a rush of static, and looked up the gun. “Do you have plants?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Plants. Do you have any? You should get some plants. They really help with unchill vibes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got up and walked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Revenant wished that he could respond, but he couldn’t think of a comeback. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Plants?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Was this wannabe-skinsuit really suggesting that he get </span>
  <em>
    <span>plants? </span>
  </em>
  <span>As if that would somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>help?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He growled to himself. One day. One day he was going to bring that little bastard down to his level. One day he’d see. They were the same--two weapons, forged in blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be the same.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bit of a loose interpretation of the prompt, but I wanted some practice writing Revenant and figuring out his dynamic with Ashwin because of Future Fanfic Plans. Also, y'all need to start yelling at me in the comments every time I post at weird hours. My sleep patterns are incredibly unsustainable at the moment.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please ignore how much I've fallen behind, it's nothing, shhh, shhhhhhh.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Here was the thing: Elliott knew now, even if he sometimes had a hard time believing it, that there were people who liked him for him. That Elliott Witt was good enough, that he didn’t have to constantly <em>be</em> Mirage. But he also knew that this was only 50% true. People in his personal life liked Elliott--his mom and Wraith and the friends he’d made in Apex Legends.</p><p>But the public wanted Mirage. They paid good money to see Mirage fight, get his autograph, maybe get a picture. They didn’t know Elliott Witt. They didn’t give a damn about Elliott Witt. Mirage, though, Mirage they cared a lot about.</p><p>In theory, that was fine. Everyone in the games had a persona. But most legends were basically just variations of themselves in their personas, be they slightly more extreme versions of themselves, or themselves but without any major public reveals of their personal lives. Even when in public, they weren’t <em>really </em>hiding anything.</p><p>Elliott wasn’t like that. Not anymore. Mirage had always been different from Elliott Witt, but now, as he started getting his shit together and feeling more comfortable in his own skin, the differences were getting bigger and bigger.</p><p>It was getting hard to keep up--absolutely <em>exhausting,</em> honestly.</p><p>Sometimes, he fantasized about letting the persona drop, just telling the whole damn world that he wasn’t who they thought he was. That he didn’t really care all that much about the money, or even the fame these days. That he was a guy who’d gladly live on one of those little frontier homesteads with a couple of dogs and some kids and be married to Wraith...also he and Wraith were dating, did he mention that? Yeah, the whole playboy thing was an act and he actually hated fake flirting. He and Wraith had talked it out, she knew it didn’t mean anything, but there was a <em>reason</em> he’d dialed it back recently. He did ballet as a kid. He liked to spend his evening cooking. Even though he ran a bar, he mostly drank when he was depressed and didn’t actually enjoy partying all that much.</p><p>His name wasn’t Mirage. It was Elliott <em>freaking</em> Witt and he was done being someone he wasn’t.</p><p>But while those close to him might be ready for that, the public wasn’t. And the Syndicate? <em>Definitely</em> wasn’t. They’d pitch a fit if he just dropped one of their most profitable competitors.</p><p>So that was where he was: stuck in a lie he’d made to protect himself, but one that was actively making things worse for him. Rock and a hard place, out of the frying pan, all those metaphors. And no matter how he sliced it, Elliott couldn’t think of a way to get out of it.</p><p>
  <em>Great.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Honestly, I'm really just using this challenge to start exploring concepts that will be important in later long fics. It's kinda fun, actually.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Shield</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Elliott wasn’t much of a reader as a kid. Or, at least, he <em>usually</em> wasn’t much of a reader. It really depended on the book. Graphic novels, comics, whatever you wanted to call them, those were the easiest for him. He liked that the text was broken up in small chunks. Big paragraphs made his head spin. Fortunately, no one really <em>forced</em> him to read recreationally, and when they did they were more than willing to be accommodating.</p>
<p>It helped that his <em>Tio</em> Jack apparently had vast collections of every known kind of media known to man stretching back so far that it was kind of ridiculous. And that included comics.</p>
<p>“How come there’s so many?” Elliott asked once as he swiped through the many, many book files Jack had given him copies of.</p>
<p>“Money, mostly. They were really popular characters back in the day, so the people that came up with them kept making comics. Eventually they ended up in the public domain and that basically made it a free-for-all. Anyone who wanted to could make their own versions.” Jack shrugged. He had looked more tired than usual that day, but it had been getting close to Frontier Liberation Day. He always looked tired around then. “Means there’s a lot to sift through, but I tried to give you the ones that don’t suck.”</p>
<p>Elliott trusted him with that. Jack might’ve been weird sometimes, but he usually had good taste in media. “Which one do you think I should start with?”</p>
<p>“Well…Spider-Man is pretty good. You’ll probably like him. Peter Parker is the classic but I like Miles Morales best. They both started being heroes when they were only a little older than you.”</p>
<p>Okay, cool, cool. “Who do you like best?”</p>
<p>“…honestly? Captain America.”</p>
<p>Elliott wasn’t sure why he didn’t expect that answer. “Is America even a place anymore?”</p>
<p>Jack snorted quietly. “No idea. I haven’t been there in forty years.”</p>
<p>“How come you like him, then?” Elliott brought up one of the Captain America comics. “If he’s from a place that might not even exist anymore?”</p>
<p>Jack leaned over and pointed to the picture of the man—all dressed in red, white, and blue, blond, blue eyes, intense stare, the kind of jawline that guys always seemed to have in these things even though Elliott rarely saw it in real life. “You see what he’s holding? The shield? That’s pretty much his thesis statement.”</p>
<p>Yep, there went <em>Tio</em> being weird again. “Thesis statement is…what your essay is about, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. But in this case, it’s what his whole…<em>everything</em> is about. He protects people. That’s why the shield. And he never gives up, no matter what. <em>I can do this all day</em>.” He said that last part the way he always talked when he was quoting something. “I just…really admire that. That’s what I’ve always tried to do.”</p>
<p>Elliott didn’t really ask more about Captain America after that. He didn’t like how sad and unsure Jack looked, or how the look lingered for a few days even after Frontier Liberation Day was over.</p>
<p>He didn’t know much about what had happened to his family during the Frontier War. No one really liked to talk about it, most of all Jack. But, looking back, Elliott felt like he learned a lot more about his <em>Tio</em> and the war in those moments than he’d originally realized.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me? Writing what's really a Titanfall 2 fic but disguising it as an Apex Legends fic? More likely than you'd think.</p>
<p>Also another loose interpretation of the prompt but whatever. Also also, I like to imagine that Marvel and DC heroes do stick around, but actually finally end up in the public domain and therefore become sort of myth heroes and not the corporate-owned shells we're seeing currently. Justice for Steve's Character Arc. Also also also, Jack Cooper is just Latino Steve Rogers in space with a giant robot and you can quote me on that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Ruins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So.” Ashwin Narita peered over the edge of the structure. “What you’re telling me is that this place is called the Cage for a damn good reason and that we need to <em>seriously</em> consider if we really need that level four armor down there?”</p>
<p>“Basically.” Tae Joon pulled his drone out of the enclosed area and steered it towards the nearest banner. “There’s no squads nearby at the moment, but that doesn’t mean it will stay that way forever.”</p>
<p>“I can lay down fences,” Natalie said eagerly. “At least that will slow anyone down if they try to ambush us.”</p>
<p>“Valid point, valid point.” Ashwin looked down again. “So…what, we run down there, don’t stick around much, run back up?”</p>
<p>“That’s fine by me.” Tae Joon positioned Hack over the opening in the ground, ready to alert them if anything went wrong. “Wattson?”</p>
<p>“Oui, I think it’s worth the risk.” She started laying down fences before the sentence was finished coming out of her mouth. “We can be quick.”</p>
<p>That was their intention, at any rate. But, even though Tae Joon had already seen glimpses of the structure through his drone exploration, nothing had prepared him for actually seeing it in person.</p>
<p>“Do we know what this place is?” he asked. He realized that his voice had become hushed instinctively. Something about that structure—a small building made of white stone mysteriously free of staining or aging, forming a staircase that spiraled down—made him feel like he should be quiet out of respect. It wasn’t quite the weighty feeling of a place of worship—maybe more like a library. “It doesn’t look like anything the IMC or Hammond has built.”</p>
<p>“That’s because it isn’t,” Ashwin said. He, too, spoke as if he were in a library, but with even more respect than Crypto felt. “It’s alien. Whatever lived out here before us.”</p>
<p>“The Chrononauts?” Wattson asked.</p>
<p>Ashwin snorted at the name. “Yeah, them. We always called them Gallifreyans.”</p>
<p>Now <em>that</em> was an old reference. Tae Joon bit back a smile. “How much do you know about them?” he asked. Ashwin seemed to know a thing or two about that kind of thing, if his random pre-drop stories were anything to go by.</p>
<p>“Oh, a thing or two. My old mercenary unit wasn’t always out there fighting things. We were researching, too. Trying to figure out what was out there.” He peered over the stairs’ railings. They could’ve jumped them, but it was dark at the bottom, only barely lit by a few lamps at the bottom. Even if their kit could take the fall, there was always the risk you’d twist your ankle on the landing. Tae Joon didn’t want to risk that unless he absolutely had to. “If I had to guess…hey, Kim, was the floor some kind of grating?”</p>
<p>“It is. I couldn’t see what was below it.”</p>
<p>Ashwin didn’t have a face, or any kind of emotional indicator like Pathfinder, but Tae Joon got the impression he was smirking. “If my hunch is right, you’ll see.”</p>
<p>Well, <em>now</em> Tae Joon was curious.</p>
<p>When they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, two things became clear. First: why it was called the Cage. The walls and floor were metal grating, like what covered the floor of the Pit in King’s Canyon, allowing them to see the entire space outside of it.</p>
<p>Second: they were suspended over a large, blank space. He thought it was a cave at first, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he realized that it couldn’t be. Even with erosion, the walls were too smooth, the corners too angular. It felt like there had <em>been</em> something there at one point, but now it was gone. “What is this place?” Wattson asked.</p>
<p>“Must’ve been either an energy place or a research center,” Ashwin said. “You know why they call them Chrononauts, right? Their whole civilization was powered by energy sources that could fold space and time. Incredible tech, but it had its risk.”</p>
<p>“Are you saying…” Tae Joon looked around the space again, his mind racing at the implications of what Ashwin had said. “…they teleported the entire facility?”</p>
<p>“Most likely, yeah. A big chunk of it, if not the whole thing. I’ve seen this a few times.” Ashwin leaned against the cage. “You feel a tingle on the back of your teeth?”</p>
<p>Tae Joon shook his head; Natalie, meanwhile, nodded vigorously. “Not much, but a little. What is that?”</p>
<p>“Residual energy, I think. My buddy, Cooper, he said it made him feel like his teeth were going to vibrate out of his skull, but that was a few decades ago. Energy was still fresh…that and he’s a bit like you, I think. He didn’t talk about it much, but…” Ashwin shrugged and turned his attention back to the gold armor. “So, how are we divvying this up?”</p>
<p>The part of him that was still Park Tae Joon, that still wanted to know things, even if they were outside his usual field of interest, was intensely curious. He wanted to ask more questions about these ruins, about the species that made them, about what other strange things Ashwin Narita had seen during the war. But he couldn’t be Park Tae Joon. He had to be Crypto, and right now Crypto was in the middle of a match. He had other things to worry about, like being ambushed in a major choke point.</p>
<p>But maybe he could find a way to ask questions later. Casually.</p>
<p>Maybe.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*muffled linkin park plays in the background as I contemplate how far behind I am*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Hero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Writes stream-of-consciousness headcanons related to the topic to fill out all the days I'm behind.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His <em>Tio</em> was a hero.</p><p>That was what everyone said, anyway.</p><p>Elliott didn’t know a lot about it. No one liked to talk about the war—not his mom, not the brothers old enough to remember how it had driven them from their first home, and <em>especially</em> not Jack. He’d never been the braggy type to begin with, but his unwillingness to talk about the war was more than just modesty. He seemed sad every time someone brought it up…<em>really</em> sad, like the kind of sad Mom got whenever she thought about Dad. Elliott had learned not to ask too many questions, no matter how curious he got.</p><p>This lack of communicating didn’t stop Elliott from hearing about how much of a hero Jack was. He just heard it from other people. He was lucky that they didn’t share a surname—Jack was a Cooper, not a Witt, and even though he could've been a Medina he only went by three names, not four. A lack of immediately obvious family ties meant that his teachers didn’t have to note that the <em>Hero of Harmony</em> was his dad’s cousin, and therefore go and expect the same level of…<em>hero-ness</em> or whatever from him.</p><p>But people who knew Jack well and saw Elliott usually made the connection.<em> Same eyes</em>, they’d say—the eyes Jack had gotten from his mother, and Elliott from his dad. They never <em>really</em> put any major expectations on him, mostly because they were rarely around long enough to apply any kind of pressure. But sometimes…</p><p>Sometimes Elliott watched his <em>Tio</em> and wondered what it would be like. To be a hero. To have people respect you the way they respected him. Sure, he seemed sad about a lot of things, but maybe you could be a hero without the sad stuff. Maybe…</p><p>He thought that for a while. So did his brothers, which was why they joined the Militia (technically the Frontier Defense Corps, but no one called it that). Maybe not to be like Jack <em>specifically</em>, but to be like him in concept. To help people. To keep their little corner of the Frontier safe.</p><p>There was a time Elliott might have maybe thought about joining them—if not directly, than the way his mom had, by helping with technology.</p><p>By the time Chris’s body was sent home, he’d lost all ambitions of ever being a hero.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Rest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wraith usually had a pretty good grip on things.</p>
<p>Usually.</p>
<p>But there were times when her traumas got the better of her. When no matter what she did, she couldn’t make herself calm down. The voices were incessant—chatter from other timelines, things not meant for her but warning of danger nonetheless, things going wrong other times and places. As if that weren’t enough, it often negatively impacted her ability to sleep.</p>
<p>Nothing to make you feel like you were actually losing your mind quite like two hours of sleep and non-stop voices screaming in your head.</p>
<p>She hadn’t had a bout of paranoid insomnia in a while when she and Elliott started dating. She knew she was overdue for one. She just hoped that it wouldn’t happen too soon.</p>
<p>She got that wish, at least. They’d been together for a few months when it hit. Wraith was able to keep her struggles to herself at first. She was sure by then that Elliott would be understanding, but she didn’t want to worry him. (And, maybe, she didn’t want him to think differently of her. She knew he wouldn’t, but the thought was still there.)</p>
<p>But she had her limits. And apparently, all it took was finding the one moment where she felt even remotely comfortable to cave. They were hanging out in his room. He was talking about how his visit to his mom’s had gone. She was sitting on the bed while he walked around the room, gesturing wildly. At some point, his story had started to turn into just words—just the sound of his voice, the warmth and affection that was always there when he talked about his mom. The happiness in his eyes.</p>
<p>It was nice.</p>
<p>Wraith didn’t remember falling asleep. One second she was listening to Elliott talk; the next, she was waking up to the sound of something be put on the table and the smell of food. Elliott had draped a blanket over her. She felt…warm. Comfortable. Like she’d actually <em>slept.</em> How long had she been asleep?</p>
<p>“Oh, hey, just in time,” Elliott said gently. “I got you dinner.”</p>
<p>Wraith sat up carefully and rubbed her eyes. “How long was I out?”</p>
<p>“Couple hours? Sorry, I would’ve taken you back to your room, but…I mean, I already took your shoes off, digging through your pockets while you’re asleep felt like going too far, you know?”</p>
<p>Huh. He had taken her shoes off. She hadn’t noticed. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the middle of your story.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s okay. You, uh…” Elliott cleared his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “You kinda looked like you needed it. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear it from me, but…”</p>
<p>Wraith grimaced. He’d noticed. “Yeah, I haven’t…I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admitted. “I guess I finally felt comfortable. Thanks for that.”</p>
<p>Elliott still looked concerned, but he also looked a little pleased. “No problem. If you ever want me to talk your ear off until you fall asleep again…I’m always here. I mean it.”</p>
<p>Wraith smiled slightly. “I might have to take you up on that.”</p>
<p>Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as the last few times. After all, now she had backup.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lest you think I'm all angst, the Miraith I write is going to be just as much fluffy romantic nonsense like this.</p>
<p>Also I desperately need to sleep because  have work tomorrow and if I don't sleep my already whack headspace is going to be even whack-er, but day fifteen is going to be FUN, trust me. I look forward to posting it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Skull</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so I put "body horror" in the tags because of this chapter but I don't think that really covers it. That was just the only tag I could think of. So...fair warning, this is about a simulacrum having some, uhh, unique ways of preserving parts of his old body that might be unnerving to people who don't like bones or taxidermy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re making that up.”</p><p>“Nope.” Ashwin leaned back in his chair. If he had a face, he’d be smiling smugly. “The entire skull.”</p><p>“Why would you have <em>your own skull</em> in box?!” Elliott asked, aghast. “Seriously, <em>why?!”</em></p><p>“Because they had no right to keep parts of my body? It’s my damn head. Or…well, it was my head, I guess. Got a new one since.”</p><p>“Why would they keep your head?” Kim Hyeon asked. He was staring at Ashwin as if he <em>could</em> see a face, and read the expression there. “I thought a simulacrum’s programming was stored elsewhere. They don’t need the brain or nervous system anymore after the initial scan is completed.”</p><p>“You’re not wrong. I think it was for archival purposes? Or they just hadn’t gotten rid of the heads yet. Either way, I’m glad I was able to grab it before I left.”</p><p>“So, if they had your whole head, how come you’ve only got your skull now?” Octane asked. He was one of the only ones who didn’t look even remotely disgusted, just fascinated. That made sense, based on what Ashwin knew about him. “They do a bad job preserving it?”</p><p>“Oh, they did a great job preserving it. There was an accident during a move and the jar got cracked…all downhill from there. So, I salvaged what I could.” Ashwin tilted his head. “You want to see it?”</p><p><em>That</em> made the table silent. The expressions at the table ranged from <em>horrified </em>to <em>curious</em> to <em>trying to be neutral but definitely freaked</em>. A few of them glanced at each other—Elliott, in particular, kept looking at Wraith as if she could clue him in. Wraith looked just as confused as he was.</p><p>“…sure,” Kim said finally. He spoke hesitantly, like he was trying to call Ashwin’s bluff but wasn’t sure there was a bluff to call. “Let’s see it.”</p><p>Ashwin definitely would’ve been grinning if he could. “Sure. Give me a second.”</p><p>He ran all the way to his room, but carefully walked back to his table with a box in his hands. The crowd that had been sitting at the table with him was bigger now. Word must’ve gotten around that he had a human skull. Revenant was there, too, which Ashwin wasn’t super thrilled about, but he could live with it. “Well?” Octane asked eagerly.</p><p>Ashwin set the box on the table and carefully removed its contents.</p><p>The reactions were immediate and strong.</p><p>“<em>What the <strong>shit?!</strong></em>” Elliott yelped, scrambling back out of his chair and as far away as he could. Octane started laughing hysterically; someone else (it sounded like Natalie) shrieked loudly. “What the <em>actual <strong>shit</strong></em><strong>,</strong><em> man?!</em>”</p><p>Ashwin laughed. “Yeah, doesn’t really look like a Halloween decoration, does it?” He turned the skull over carefully in his hands. The jaw had been wired in place and all his teeth secured, so he wasn’t too worried about dropping any loose parts, but it was still a fifty year old skull. “Say hi to all that’s left of me. Well…this and a few odds and ends and a box of ashes in a shared mausoleum somewhere.”</p><p>Revenant chuckled darkly (the only way he knew how to chuckle). “Didn’t think you had it in you,” he said. He really did sound impressed; it didn’t even sound like he was trying to goad Ashwin into a fight for a change. “You sure there’s no brain matter left?”</p><p>Ashwin ignored him, as always. “Anyways, there’s guys in Angel City who will clean and preserve a human skull for you if you just ask nicely.” He put the skull back and closed the box. “Just in case you need that.”</p><p>“Why was some of it missing?!” Elliott said. His voice had gone sing-songy from panic and he was actually hiding behind a disgusted-but-fascinated Wraith. “Did you<em> drop it?</em>”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, that. No, I got shot in the head. Did I not tell you I died from a head shot?”</p><p>“<em>I thought you were joking!</em>” Elliott actually was looking a bit green. “Congratulations. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>“You should consider yourself lucky, then,” Ashwin said. His tone was cheerful, but the sentiment was completely serious. At least Elliott hadn’t had to see the skull with the skin still on. And at least it hadn’t been <em>his</em> skin. “If you think this is bad, you should see the vertebrae bracelet.”</p><p>Octane laughed harder. Elliott looked even queasier, then indignant. “Okay, now you’re just bullshitting me. There’s no way you’d do that. No freaking way.”</p><p>Ashwin had, actually. But he’d let Elliott keep thinking otherwise for the sake of his sanity.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My son is a terrible goth vulture child.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Growth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kindly please ignore that I'm almost two weeks behind.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ashwin Narita?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“You mentioned one time that you keep plants?”</p>
<p>“Sure do. Why?”</p>
<p>“Do you know anything about fungi?”</p>
<p>Ashwin Narita looked up from his tablet, his single eye focusing on Pathfinder. “Why, you find some?”</p>
<p>Pathfinder held out his arm. “They found me, I think!”</p>
<p>He had been left on the battlefield for longer than usual last match. While they had repaired the damage done to him, they hadn’t done a great job cleaning all of the mud off of him. He had been doing that himself when he found them—a cluster of tiny mushrooms growing in a crevice that had been packed with dirt. There were a lot of fungi on the planet, and he had heard that many of them were fast-growing. He just hadn’t realized how fast until now.</p>
<p>“I didn’t want to hurt them. I was wondering if you knew anything about how to keep mushrooms.”</p>
<p>Ashwin Narita examined the mushrooms and gasped softly. “<em>Oh, my gosh, they’re tiny.</em>” After pointing out that obvious statement, he immediately turned around and started walking fast. “Come on. I think I have an empty jar in my room still.”</p>
<p>Pathfinder followed, careful to keep his arm bent so the mushrooms wouldn’t be disturbed. Ashwin Narita kept talking as they walked: “So, we’ll need some other stuff…I have potting soil, so that’s fine, but we’re gonna need rocks and something else to put in there with them. Moss is probably best…there’s some growing on those rocks near the entrance, right?”</p>
<p>“I believe so!”</p>
<p>“Good.” When Ashwin Narita opened the door to his room, Pathfinder saw a lot of green. There were a few plants in pots, and several plants in jars—balls of moss floating in water, jars with condensation clinging to the side that contained some kind of green substance. Ashwin grabbed a jar and a bag of soil and turned around. He seemed very excited. “All right. <em>Terrarium time.</em>”</p>
<p>A terrarium, as it turned out, consisted of a layer of rocks with some soil on top, onto which you laid a layer of moss and any other plants you might have. Ashwin helped Pathfinder to carefully remove the tiny mushrooms from his arm and plant them among the moss they gathered. “Okay, what you’re gonna want to do is keep this damp and keep it covered most of the time. No direct sunlight, either, that will just bake the little guys. It should develop it is own little ecosystem after a while, so…yeah. Congrats.” He passed the jar to Pathfinder. “You have a new friend.”</p>
<p>Pathfinder’s happy display glowed brightly at the thought. It felt a lot like he had made two friends in that moment—one plant, one robotic. “Thank you, Ashwin!” he said, carefully holding the jar.</p>
<p>He put it on a shelf next to his picture of himself, Wraith, and Mirage. It felt like the perfect spot for it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Still chipping away at this forever and just posting as I go, RIP to the inbox of anyone subbed to this fic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She had been hesitant to enter the house, but she wasn’t sure why.</p>
<p>Wraith had already met Evelyn Witt. She’d even been to the house. But she’d never really wandered around past the living room, and she’d definitely never been there without Elliott. But he had been held up somewhere else, said he’d meet her there before they went out on their mystery date. So, it was just her and Evelyn in the house. It might as well have just been Wraith; Evenlyn was in the middle of some project and had gone back out to the garage, telling Wraith to make herself at home.</p>
<p><em>Make yourself at home</em>. Right. Wraith liked Evelyn plenty, and she <em>definitely</em> liked Elliott, and she knew they both liked her. But being in <em>their</em> home still felt…strange. Like she was still an interloper and not Elliott’s girlfriend.</p>
<p>She had planned on waiting for Elliott in the living room. But a mixture of boredom and curiosity (okay, it was nosiness) made her get up and start looking around.</p>
<p>Elliott had bought the house with his winnings, she knew that—a small cottage, plenty of land and privacy, not too far from the ocean. He stayed there a lot, whenever he wasn’t staying in his city apartment. That privacy was important to him. The entire space was very…<em>cozy.</em> Plants, some fake, some real. Not so many pictures, but she expected that after everything they’d lost. The kitchen was well-stocked for cooking and baking. A lot of the things in it—in the entire house, really—looked older. Well-maintained, but like they’d been in the family for a while.</p>
<p>Frontier mentality, she guessed. Waste not, want not.</p>
<p>She moved through the living room, the kitchen, the small dining room that overlooked the path to the beach. She peered down that path, as if Elliott would be coming up it and not from the other side of the house. Fog and rain clouds were starting to roll in from the ocean. <em>I hope wherever Elliott’s taking me is indoors.</em> She liked rain as much as the next mildly spooky and introspective person, but being out in it was a bit too much.</p>
<p>She hesitated in the hallway that lead to the bedrooms, but her nosiness won out. Wraith walked to the first door, stopped, and pushed it open just enough to see whose it was. From the pink cardigan tossed on the bed, this was Evelyn’s room, not Elliott’s. She shut the door quickly and moved on to the next door. Linen closet. Door after that was a bathroom, and then…</p>
<p>There it was. Elliott’s room. The smell clued her in—not overwhelming by any stretch, but she knew that cologne. She opened the door just a bit wider, peering inside.</p>
<p>Wraith wasn’t sure what she expected. She had seen the inside of his room in the compound, and his off-compound apartment. All three spaces were roughly the same, décor-wise. He preferred primary colors—his bedding here was red, whereas it was blue in the other rooms—simple decorations, things a bit cluttered but less so now that he was managing his ADHD a bit better. She was a bit surprised to see a stuffed animal sitting on the bed. It looked old…a lion, she guessed?</p>
<p>Wraith stepped inside to pick it up. Definitely a lion. Definitely seen better days, too. It had a lot of patches. Little guy must’ve been with Elliott for a while. She set him back down. As she did, it hit her what was so unusual about the space. In his other two living spaces—other three, if you counted his room on the drop ship—there were at least a few pieces of Mirage-related memorabilia. Usually posters, but sometimes things like fanart, flyers from matches, that kind of thing. Here there was…<em>nothing</em>.</p>
<p>Well, not nothing. There were posters for competitors along one way, near a small workbench, but none for Mirage. She saw one for Pathfinder, for Natalie…for her.</p>
<p>
  <em>…Wait.</em>
</p>
<p>Wraith smiled as she walked over to the poster. She remembered this. Elliott had asked her to sign it. She’d thought at the time he was taking the piss, but she <em>had</em> signed it just to humor him. And now here it was, hanging above his workbench.</p>
<p>She felt strangely warm seeing it there—especially when she noticed one of the only other pictures in the room was on that workbench as well. Elliott and his mom, smiling together.</p>
<p>It felt like a shrine to everyone he cared about.</p>
<p><em>elliott's coming</em>, whispered one of the voices.</p>
<p>Wraith backed away from the workbench, suddenly unsure if she should be in there. But it was too late; she could hear Elliott’s footsteps coming hesitantly coming down the hall. “Hello?” he called.</p>
<p>Well then. Might as well own up to being nosy.</p>
<p>“In here,” she called, stepping closer to the door. “Sorry, I was, uh…” She opened the door wide enough that Elliott could see her. “Your mom said to make myself at home, and I realized I’d never seen your room.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Elliott only looked a little embarrassed. “…I can explain the lion.”</p>
<p>Wraith laughed. “He’s cute. What’s his name?”</p>
<p>“Leo. That was the name on the tag and I’m bad at naming things.” Elliott stepped inside the room with her, hands in his pockets, looking a little less embarrassed now that she wasn’t making fun of him for the stuffed animal. “He’s been around since I was a baby. I know, it’s not much, I just…wanted this room to be simpler. It calms me down, you know?”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” Wraith nodded towards the posters above the workbench. “Nice collector’s items.”</p>
<p>Elliott looked at them, then laughed. “What, did you think I was going to sell it? No way, that’s like a good luck charm.” He stopped to kiss her on the cheek. “I’m gonna say hi to Mom and then we can go. Okay?”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>They walked out of the room, hand in hand. The space felt a lot less alien as she left it—a lot more like someplace she could belong one day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first batch of Octavio’s therapists always tried to talk to him about how he shouldn’t do stupid things to get his father’s attention. Something something <em>risky behavior</em> something something <em>acting out, </em>blah blah <em>blah</em>. That was why he’d never liked his first batch of therapists. They made <em>everything</em> about his stupid dad. As if the old man was always living rent-free in Octavio’s head, influencing everything he did.</p>
<p>…okay, <em>to be fair.</em> Yes, some of the stuff he’d done as a kid was to get his dad’s attention. But the older he got, the less he gave a damn what his dad thought of him. The stunts he pulled had nothing to do with the old man (most of the time—sometimes he couldn’t resist making the family look bad, but that wasn’t the same thing).</p>
<p>No, he did it because it was <em>fun</em>.</p>
<p>Boredom was death for him, and he had no better weapon than a nice walk off a tall cliff. The thrill he got from every risk, every successful payoff, every gasp from an appreciative onlooker or all-caps comment from an enthusiastic fan was <em>just</em> the rush he needed to get through an otherwise restrictive, boring life. Without those stunts, he was just some pharmacy CEO’s son, bored out of his mind, doing whatever the hell it was that normal kids did. With them...with them, he could punch a hole in the ceiling.</p>
<p>Punch a hole in the <em>sky</em>.</p>
<p>Octavio <em>freaking</em> Silva.</p>
<p>Yeah. He liked that better.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Another loose interpretation but shh...shhh, I'm really behind.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Target</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Memories came back at odd times. Little fragments of things that had happened in the past, like glass shards in his eye. Remembering death. Remembering old targets. Remembering moments and then remembering those moments weren’t real at all.</p>
<p>Just another thing to make his life a living hell.</p>
<p>Most of the time, he could trace the cause and effect of the memory and the trigger. Today, though, as he stared down at the competitor he had by the throat, he couldn’t figure out why he was remembering…</p>
<p>
  <em>Dilapidated building, the sound of cars driving outside, the soft gasps of the target in his hands—not too tightly, though, he’d only get paid if he brought the target in alive…</em>
</p>
<p>Funny. They didn’t usually ask him to do alive.</p>
<p>And it definitely wasn’t the competitor he was holding in the present. This had been a few decades ago—Mirage (that was the skinsuit’s name) would’ve been a baby, if he’d been born at all. A quick scan of his face confirmed that Revenant hadn’t seen him before a few weeks ago. So what about this situation was so familiar?</p>
<p>It was the eyes. Something about the eyes. The ones from before were less fearful, more enraged, but they were so similar…</p>
<p>“<em>Let him go</em>,” said a voice behind him.</p>
<p>Revenant sighed. He knew that voice. Damn it. He’d thought that getting paired up would stop this. “We’re not on the same team,” he said dryly, turning around to face the other simulacrum. “Or did you forget how the games work?”</p>
<p>Ashwin Narita had a gun pointed at him. That was familiar, too.</p>
<p><em>Ah</em>. So that was where he’d seen him.</p>
<p>If Revenant had a mouth, he’d be smiling.</p>
<p>
  <em>Well, well. This could be fun after all.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, this IS me heavily hinting at stuff that hasn't been written yet, what of it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Friendship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Refreshing the page over and over isn’t going to get the email here any faster,” Wraith pointed out.</p>
<p>“I know, I know, just…” Elliott refreshed the page again. “Nervous, I think. They usually send out emails around this time…”</p>
<p>Natalie made a face as she watched Elliott refresh again. “Sometimes they’re late. I hate it when they do that. They could at least stick to a half-hour time frame.”</p>
<p>“Agreed.” Elliott refreshed again; this time, he perked up at the sight of a new email. That elation quickly turned to dread. “Oh, <em>boy</em>.”</p>
<p>Wraith smiled reassuringly. She knew that feeling; there was always a mixture of interest and dread when you got an email about your abilities. You could never tell which side of the fence the fairness committee was going to fall on, and they hadn’t exactly been kind to Elliott lately. “Not knowing is worse,” she reminded him.</p>
<p>“I know, I know.” Elliott opened the email. He read it once, frowned slightly, then read it a second time. <em>That</em> was when his face lit up. “They gave the go-ahead!” he said, jumping to his feet in excitement.</p>
<p>Natalie squealed and jumped to his feet as well. “<em>Très bien</em>! Congratulations!”</p>
<p>She was bouncing up and down, hands waving in excitement. Elliott started bouncing as well, their positive energies feeding off each other. Wraith didn’t get up and bounce, but she did feel her own smile widen.</p>
<p>It was nice, seeing the two of them so happy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Technically this exercise is over but I'm gonna finish the thing out of spite.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Scar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, I AM still working on this and yes I DO intend to finish it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What happened?”</p><p>Wraith flinched at the question, crossing her arms, hiding the scars that spread down from her palms to her wrists. Natalie immediately felt guilty. Wraith had always worn long sleeves; she must have been self-conscious of them. “I’m sorry,” Natalie said.</p><p>“No, no, you’re okay. I don’t, uhm...I don’t really remember. It was a long time ago and…I don’t really remember what happened.”</p><p>Natalie nodded. That made sense--if the injury was traumatic, she might have blocked some of it out. Natalie knew, because that was how it happened with her.</p><p>“I don’t remember mine clearly, either,” she admitted, gently touching a hand to the scars on her face. “I remember a little of what happened before, and what my papa told me, but I don’t remember it actually happening.”</p><p>Wraith nodded. She kept her arms crossed. Her face was difficult to read--it usually was, but at times like these, it was<em> very </em>difficult. “...how did you…” She cleared her throat. “...you know, come to terms with it? The scars, I mean?”</p><p>Natalie shrugged. She felt a little guilty again, but this time for different reasons. “I don’t think I can help much with that,” she admitted. “I didn’t realize it was something I should notice until I was older. And by then I didn’t care.” She <em>tried</em> not to look at Wraith’s scars again, she really did, but she couldn’t help herself. “They’re not so bad, you know.”</p><p>“…do you think so?”</p><p>“<em>Oui</em>. I’ve seen worse. Just stand next to Octavio. People definitely won’t notice then.”</p><p>Wraith laughed quietly. The nervousness seemed to leave her body as she did. “Good point…thanks, Nat.”</p><p>Natalie wasn’t sure how much help she’d really been. But Wraith did seem to feel better, and that was all that mattered. “Any time,” Natalie said.</p><p>She meant it, too. That’s what friends were for, right?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Did I ever tell you I dreamed about moments like this?”</p>
<p>They were lying on a blanket out on the beach. The stars up above shone brightly; occasionally, a meteor would fly by. Shoulders touched, hands entwined. It was peaceful. Calm.</p>
<p>Exactly like those dreams she’d once had.</p>
<p>“About us?” Elliott asked.</p>
<p>“Kind of. Sometimes…when I dream, I see other timelines. Possible futures. I saw ones where you and I are happy.” She thought about the timeline with rings kept safe in a shared room, but decided that future was a bit too intimidating for where they were. One day, maybe, but not yet. “Quite a few, actually. Guess you and I keep running into each other.”</p>
<p>“Huh. Good for them.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Her eyes tracked another meteor as it streaked across the sky. “I saw them…a few months before we got together. That’s why I got so distant for a while. I saw us together, and it killed me because I thought…I thought I couldn’t have that. I really thought…” She shook her head. “Stupid of me, huh?”</p>
<p>“Stupid of both of us. I could’ve said something, too.” Elliott laughed quietly. “Do you think there’s another Wraith watching us right now?”</p>
<p>“Maybe. I hope she takes this as a sign. Gets up the courage to talk to him, if that’s what she needs.” She moved closer to Elliott, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe there’s a timeline where we got it right the first time.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, maybe.” His cheek rested against the top of her head. “This one’s pretty good anyway, though.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” She closed her eyes, a feeling of contentment settling over her. “Yeah, it is.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>True story, I was a bit stumped on this one until I was (once again) going through my fanfic timeline and realized one fic I had listed was more of a drabble than a full-tilt fic. So, thanks, past me, you gave current me some inspiration.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Meal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>LMAO I almost forgot that I still have to finish this...whoops.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The kitchen looked like someone had set off a bomb inside, or like a poltergeist had been trying to scare some rich suburban white people. Ajay found herself immediately checking for signs of any fire damage. She was shocked to see there were none. Not even a hint of smoke. And it didn’t look like Octane had any visible burns, so she wasn’t sure why he’d called her in there. “What the <em>hell</em> happened in here?!” she asked.</p>
<p>“I was cooking.” Octavio sounded so pleased with himself—so pleased that she was almost willing to overlook any potential hazardous messes. “You said it’s been forever since you had real <em>pain patate</em>. I found a recipe and I figured…” He shrugged. “How hard could it be?”</p>
<p>Ajay was taken aback. She <em>had</em> said that, in passing, <em>last week.</em> She was surprised he’d remembered. It was the kind of thing that Octavio’s working memory liked to dump. “Where did you get sweet potatoes?” she asked.</p>
<p>“I have my methods.” He said it with that <em>tone</em>—the one that said he was trying to get a rise out of her. She stared at him, deadpan, until he cracked. “I’m <em>kidding</em>. They had it at the market. That’s why I remembered.” He pulled the dessert into view. “What do you think?”</p>
<p>Ajay leaned closer to examine the <em>pain patate</em>. It…<em>looked</em> okay. Not burnt, smelled like it should. She grabbed the nearest clean knife to test to bread. Fully cooked.</p>
<p>“You didn’t thnk I could cook, did you?” he said.</p>
<p>She wouldn’t go <em>that</em> far, but Ajay certainly didn’t have any evidence that he <em>could. </em>People had always cooked for him at home and in the games. The few times she’d seen him make food, it was something quick, usually microwavable, and sometimes only technically food. She vividly remembered the first time she’d seen him eat burnt toast. Ajay loved him, she really did, but that <em>still </em>made her want to gag. “You’re full of surprises,” she said finally. “Have you considered getting into baking instead of stunts?”</p>
<p>“Nah.” Octavio cut two slices, passing one off to her while holding on to his own. He didn’t bite into his, instead watching her eagerly for a response.</p>
<p>Ajay did love him, but that didn’t stop her from double-checking that it was fully cooked before she took a bite.</p>
<p>She wasn’t sure what to expect from that bite, so if she was surprised, it wasn’t because he had defied her expectations. He’d created completely new expectations from scratch, and damn if he hadn’t somehow already set the bar high.</p>
<p>“Were you gonna hide that you can cook forever?” She took another bite. It wasn’t the same as when her mom made it—though, to be fair, that made her appreciate it more. She didn’t want to be reminded of home <em>that</em> much. “<em>Damn.</em>”</p>
<p>Octavio bounced slightly in excitement before tearing into his. “Gotta have a <em>few</em> mysteries in the relationship,” he said, only sounding a little bit smug.</p>
<p>“Uh huh. Thank you, Tavi.”</p>
<p>The compliment had him beaming. That sight made the dessert taste sweeter. “<em>No problemo,</em>” he said. Then, “I’m gonna clean these up eventually, I promise.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh.” Despite the skepticism in her hum, she <em>did</em> believe him.</p>
<p>She definitely believed the <em>eventually</em> part.</p>
<p>Ah, well, it was a communal kitchen that no one really used. He could take his time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Hobby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I swear I'm still working on this...new GoW4 hyperfixation and the fact that s6 has been testing my patience just slowed me down.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I did ballet as a kid until middle school.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t the scariest thing he’d ever said to her, but it was up there. Elliott wasn’t sure how Wraith would react. He was <em>pretty</em> sure it wouldn’t be with scorn, but he couldn’t help bracing himself for it.</p>
<p>She didn’t look scornful, or mocking, or anything his anxiety brain expected. Instead, she looked intrigued. “Really?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” It was weird, being in the dance studio with someone else—especially her. He was used to sneaking in and out and praying no one he knew saw him. But it was feeling less and less terrifying the longer they were there. “I was pretty good. I mean, I don’t think I’d ever go pro, but that wasn’t really the intention. I just...liked it, you know?”</p>
<p>He could still remember the studio, how much bigger it had felt to him when he was small, how much <em>easier</em> it was to pay attention there than it was in school or pretty much anywhere else, because at least this was something <em>interesting</em>.</p>
<p>“It made me feel like I was good at something. And…then the other kids in middle school found out and called me sugar plum fairy until I quit.” Weird; he felt more ashamed at having admitted to giving up on dancing than he did admitting to having been bullied. “And that was the last time I ever did a recreational sport as a kid.”</p>
<p>Wraith winced sympathetically. “I’m sorry. Is that what middle school was like, or…?”</p>
<p>“Did I just have it bad?” Good question. “I think it was like that for everyone. They even found reasons to pick on Miles and he was actually Mr. Popular most of the time. He just had an easier time not letting it bother him.”</p>
<p>“So, what you’re saying is, I should let any memories of middle school stay buried?”</p>
<p>Elliott snorted. “Probably. I mean, unless you’re one of the lucky few who walked out unscathed, then there <em>might</em> be something worth remembering.”</p>
<p>“Maybe. Does Nat know? I know she dances, too.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, she saw me leaving here once. She’s sworn to secrecy.” He leaned against the rails and surveyed the space--empty as always, because if there was one thing money could buy it was <em>private time in various spaces.</em> “It’s been weird, giving it a shot again. It’s harder than I remember, but I’m also less flexible than I used to be. I used to be able to do a full split. <em>But…</em>that has encouraged me to branch out a bit. Chase that dancing high in more attainable ways.” He pushed himself away from the rails and held out a hand. “You want to try?”</p>
<p>“…I don’t think I’ve done much dancing…” Wraith took his hand and smiled shyly. “I might step on your feet.”</p>
<p>“Listen, I’ve seen you in action. You’re definitely not going to step on my feet. And even if you did, I’ve had worse pain.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough. You know anything beginner-friendly?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely.”</p>
<p>Wraith took to dancing pretty quickly, just like Elliott thought she would. And, for the first time, he didn’t feel self-conscious dancing around someone new.</p>
<p>
  <em>We’ve definitely got to do this again.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Fear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You didn’t feel pain the same way when you were a simulacrum. That was one of the first things Ashwin learned. You felt <em>something</em>, but it wasn’t pain like he remembered it. There was a difference between purely feeling psychological awareness that you were damaged, potentially really badly, and physical pain, which had that mental element <em>and</em> an actual sensation.</p>
<p>Pain being different meant fear was a lot different, too. If he had less of an incentive to avoid pain, since it was a lot easier to logic his way out of than physical hurt, there were fewer things that <em>really</em> scared him. He might be <em>wary</em>, sure, cautious, always, because Ashwin wasn’t looking to get damaged badly. But he wasn’t terrified at the prospect like he might have been once.</p>
<p>It also kind of helped that he remembered dying, and while that wasn’t exactly something he was seeking out, either, going through it once made the prospect of facing it a second time almost...mundane? That probably wasn’t the right word. But it was like doing a scary thing for a second time. You were still afraid, but you kind of knew what to expect, at least.</p>
<p>Sometimes he wondered if that was why Revenant was <em>like that</em>.</p>
<p>Ashwin had been inclined at first to brush off the other sim’s repeated insistence that nothing scared him as edgy bravado. In his defense, pretty much <em>everything</em> Revenant did had a flavor of <em>edgy bravado</em> to it, so it wasn’t like he was being judgy. But as he was forced to learn more about the simulacrum, Ashwin came to realize something.</p>
<p>Revenant had been through a <em>lot</em>.</p>
<p>Ashwin had always suspected that the sim was a repeat upload. It was the only way to explain that hollow, empty look in his eyes, that overwhelming feeling of <em>nothing</em> emanating from him that had terrified Ashwin on an existential level he hadn’t felt since his own near-brush with Transfer Psychosis. He figured, ten, maybe twelve transfers, because that was about the highest he’d ever seen or heard of, and every time it was in relation to sims who were past reaching. That assumption was only broken when Revenant made a reference to something he’d done in a pre-Frontier conflict in the Core’s outer edges. It had been an off-hand comment, but too <em>specific</em> in its detail to be something he made up.</p>
<p>“...okay, but that was like...what, the 2500s?” Ashwin said. Revenant just stared at him, somehow managing to convey <em>yeah, put the pieces together, dumbass</em> without saying a word or having much in the way of facial expressions. “Dude, how many times have you--?”</p>
<p>“Died?” Revenant said bluntly. “I’ve lost count. What, did you think you were the oldest person here? Sorry to burst your bubble. I’ve got a few centuries on you.”</p>
<p>It was the closest to feeling physically ill Ashwin had felt in a while. Of course, without a stomach, he couldn’t feel nauseous, but he could feel suddenly very aware of the scratches on Revenants face, the rushing of his own coolants and fuel lines, the faint buzzing of the batteries that kept him alive like a heart once had. “...I’m only saying this out loud because I know you’ll hate hearing it,” Ashwin said shakily, “but I actually feel sorry for you right now.”</p>
<p>Revenant laughed, a dismissive, angry barking sound. “Save your pity for someone who needs it. I’m freer than I’ve ever been. They can’t do anything to me anymore.”</p>
<p>Ashwin knew he wasn’t just talking about Hammond not being able to control him anymore. If he wasn’t lying—if he really did have centuries on Ashwin—that meant he had died, been hurt, been lied to that entire time. He’d lived it all. There was <em>nothing</em> left that anyone could do to him, short of finding a way to kill him for good.</p>
<p>Maybe Revenant was fearless after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Holiday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, the idea is that…you’re supposed to celebrate the people who are gone. Not be sad, you know?” Elliott laughed awkwardly. “I mean, I still end up getting sad, but that’s kind of a <em>me</em> problem, I think.”</p>
<p>Wraith nodded and looked at the shelf on the wall. There were a lot of pictures already; not just the ones Elliott had put up, but ones left my other patrons. People left shots, too, sometimes food, sometimes trinkets. “Usually we’d do this at a graveyard, but I don’t think a lot of these people have bodies to grieve over, y’know?” Elliott shrugged. “This is better than nothing.”</p>
<p>The sight of it—all those people, people who had been loved, were <em>still</em> loved—made Wraith’s chest ache. It was a reminder that she might have people, people she might want to remember, but couldn’t. Who knew how many pictures she would have to place up on that wall, if any? She tried to clear the thought from her mind—this was a day of remembrance for people, not a time to feel sorry for herself. She tried to distract herself by taking in some of the faces.</p>
<p>One face in particular—dark-skinned, features that reminded her of someone without being completely identical—caught her eye.</p>
<p>“…Bangalore put that there?” she guessed, a bit surprised.</p>
<p>“Yeah. I thought about…” Elliott grimaced. “But. Time and a place. I can’t exactly tell her not to mourn, even if…”</p>
<p>Even if whoever that man was up on the wall might’ve died on the <em>other</em> side of the Frontier War. Even if he might’ve hurt someone in Elliott’s family.</p>
<p>“That’s really kind of you,” Wraith said.</p>
<p>“I can be nice, on occasion. And today of all days…” He held out a glass to her. “We’re all in the same sadness boat, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Wraith took the glass, her eyes staying fixed on the wall. “Yeah, I guess so.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This one isn't my favorite, but full honesty, at this point I'm just trying to get all these done. They can't all be top tier.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Music</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one will make more sense if you read <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048801">En esta canción / va mi corazón</a> first (though I feel like most of you have by now).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>Te amo y más, de lo que puedes imaginar…</em>”</p><p>He hadn’t really thought about that song choice. It was just a song he defaulted to a lot as it was, and the fact that his actual girlfriend was in the room made it even more of a logical choice. Elliott was so caught up in the song that when Wraith did speak, it caught him off-guard.</p><p>“You never <em>actually</em> told me what that means.”</p><p>“Hmm?” Elliott paused, his brain sluggishly trying to catch up to the comment and its full implications. “What?”</p><p>“The song. When you played it the first time, you just said it was something your dad used to play.” Wraith raised an eyebrow. “I know what <em>te amo</em> means now, so I can fill in <em>some</em> of the gaps…”</p><p>...<em>oh</em>. Damn. Gently roasted.</p><p>“Yeah, okay, so I was pining a little bit that first time I played it,” Elliott admitted. “And you don’t have to call me out. Octane already did.”</p><p>“Is <em>that</em> why he was being more of a shithead than usual?”</p><p>“That is 100% why.” Elliott rolled his eyes and re-positioned his hands. “I’m shocked the zippy little bastard didn’t rat me out before I told you myself. There’s an English translation, I think I remember most of it…”</p><p>It took him a second, but fortunately, song lyrics were one of the few things that stuck in his selective-memory-dumping brain. “<em>I love you too much to live without you loving me back, I love you too much…Heaven's my witness and this is a fact…</em>”</p><p>His voice was shaking a bit. It was stupid—they had been dating for a while, she already <em>knew</em>, but something about actually admitting to his stupid pining in real English felt as terrifying as confessing his feelings had been the first time.</p><p>“<em>I know I belong when I sing this song…there's love above love and it's ours ‘cause I love you too much…</em>”</p><p>He almost chickened out when he heard Wraith move. But she was moving closer, resting her head on his shoulder without actually impeding his playing. Even the simple fact that she wasn’t running scared was enough encouragement to keep playing. And the longer the song went on, the more he remembered…</p><p>
  <em>Right. My anxiety is a coward bitch and I’m doing great.</em>
</p><p>Better than great, because he could openly admit to his feelings in song while the girl of his dreams leaned against him and listened. Life was pretty damn great right now.</p><p>“<em>There's love above love and it's yours, ‘cause I love you…there's love above love and it's ours if you love me as much.</em>”</p><p>Yeah. Things were pretty great.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Treasure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s terrible. I love it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know about <em>terrible</em>…” The statuette was pretty ostentatious though, between the gold and the little mechanism that shot off holographic fireworks. It fit Mirage as a concept, though, which made it the perfect merch. “...I’m sure it will sell either way. This is just the prototype, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Elliott carefully passed the statuette off to Wraith. “I think they’re going to do a cheaper version with lighter materials and no special effects and then the fancy version.”</p>
<p>Wraith hummed faintly and examined the item. It was a bit much, but at least Elliott seemed aware of it. At any rate, he was kind of doing a public service. The fact that he was willing to have his face slapped on so many things took the weight of merchandising off the less willing--like her, for instance. A thought occurred to her as she tested the object’s weight. “They’re letting you have a proper heirloom soon, right?” she said.</p>
<p>“Yeah, <em>finally</em>.”</p>
<p>“You should have them make you one of these with real metal and use that. Good advertising.”</p>
<p>Elliott stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Oh, <em>shit</em>…damn, how much of an egomaniac do you think I am?”</p>
<p>“You? Not so much. Mirage, though…”</p>
<p>“Valid point, valid point. Ah…” He tried to calm himself, but ended up having another giggle fit before he could finish the thought. “I know you’re probably joking, but what if I <em>did</em>?”</p>
<p>“Your call...I don’t think they’d have any right to turn you down after Path’s, though.”</p>
<p>"True, true."</p>
<p>Thing was, she didn't think he'd actually do it. Sure, she stood by her reasoning why it would make sense, but she <em>had </em>been joking.</p>
<p>Wraith should've known better. It was Elliott. Of course he'd go for the funny option.</p>
<p>That knowledge still didn't prepare her for the sight of him with the tiny metal statue of himself strapped to his hip, beaming like a cat that had just stolen the fish. She laughed so hard the others were a bit alarmed. "Ain't <em>that</em> funny, Wraith," Lifeline said, looking a bit worried.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I know." Wraith swallowed her remaining laughter and turned to glare at Elliott. She had to look away before his bright grin and idiot eyebrow waggle set her off again. "Inside joke. You had to be there."</p>
<p><em>I've created a monster,</em> she thought, but somehow? She didn't regret it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, he thought he still had skin. He'd glance at a mirror or some other reflective surface and see…</p><p>
  <em>Fair skin, blue eyes, blond hair perfectly groomed…</em>
</p><p>There was a reason Revenant didn't keep mirrors in his room. Not that he <em>needed</em> a room, but they'd given him one.</p><p>Revenant found himself watching the other simulacrum, Narita, checking to see if he saw it, too. If the remnants of the ego retention system still clawed at his mind, or if Hammond had improved their craft since Revenant had been forged. Narita didn't seem too bothered by his appearance; the only times he used a mirror was for the usual vain shit, adjusting his scarf, checking a paint chip on his shoulder, making sure the LED cycle on his "face" working properly (because his response to the game masters telling him he <em>needed more personality</em> was to plaster the colors of the Angel City Liberation Movement on his chest and add a fucking adaptable LED screen with <em>uwu</em> as the default face, something Revenant found both irritating and almost admirably gutsy). He never stopped, never lingered, never avoided reflective surfaces.</p><p>Revenant wanted to hate him for that--<em>did</em> hate him for that. But then he realized something: Ashwin still had his moments. They just didn't have anything to do with mirrors.</p><p>It came when he'd double check his surfaces for damage, still seeming taken aback that he only had scratches and dents. It came when he referred to various leaks as <em>bleeding</em>, and his restart cycles as <em>sleep</em>. The way he still hung around the cafeteria at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and went to the bar under the guise of <em>talking to people</em>. The way he actually <em>kept</em> things in his room, including a bed he didn't need, as if any of it <em>mattered</em>.</p><p>All of it confirmed something Revenant had always known: at heart, Narita was still a skin suit.</p><p>It was pathetic--almost enough to make Revenant feel some sympathy. He might've had his lapses, but he knew what he was now, and nothing was going to make him forget. Narita, it seemed, didn't have that.</p><p>Poor stupid bastard.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ashwin: I'm going to have a positive relationship with my new body and live a life where I enjoy things, even if it's not all the things I used to enjoy.<br/>Revenant: fucking NERD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Trust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He'd lost count of the number of times he almost told Wraith.</p>
<p>
  <em>My name's not Kim Heyeon.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>My name is Park Tae Joon.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They kidnapped my sister. She might be dead. I don't know. Her name is Mila.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They framed me for it and I'm here to take them down.</em>
</p>
<p>But every time he tried, distrust crawled up from his gut and dragged the words back down.</p>
<p>It was, at first, a logical reaction; she was nice enough, and they were helping each other out, but she was still a stranger at first. But…as much as he hated to admit it, as much as he had <em>no idea</em> how this had happened, he and Wraith were friends now. More than that, she'd told him things about herself that, as far as he could tell, only her other close friend and her boyfriend knew. Things about the empty space in her past, about what the IMC may have done to her.</p>
<p>About the real reason <em>she</em> was in the games.</p>
<p>They were alike in that regard--two people trying to regain something they'd lost, unafraid to use the Syndicate to further those ends. But <em>not being afraid to use them</em> and <em>trying to bring them down</em> were two different things, and he had no real way of knowing how deep her loyalties to the organization were. She didn't <em>seem</em> especially fond of them, but…</p>
<p>How could he know for sure?</p>
<p>How could he <em>know?</em></p>
<p>Tae Joon had always been cautious. Mila would tease him for being paranoid, but he preferred <em>prepared</em>. No introducing variables you weren't ready to face. Take as few risks as possible. Plan carefully. Have a backup plan. Trust as few people as possible, because they always brought their own messiness, and he didn't <em>need</em> that. Especially not now.</p>
<p>But as time went on, Tae Joon started to wonder if she was right.</p>
<p>Maybe it was just paranoia.</p>
<p>But if it was, it was paranoia he couldn’t shake. Maybe one day, he’d be able to tell her everything, but for now…</p>
<p><em>Nothing personal</em>, he thought bitterly. <em>Just the trauma.</em></p>
<p>At least Wraith would understand once he told her.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Freestyle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Casually drops this and runs.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s B-l-a-s-e-y, correct?”</p>
<p>“That’s right.” Renee's blue eyes fixed on the man across the table. Maintain eye contact, show you're serious. The interview had been really sudden, but she wasn't going to let that trip her up. This could be the opportunity she'd been waiting for. “Sorry I was running late…”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it.” The man put her file down and met her gaze. “So, you’re a recent graduate from the Training Corps?”</p>
<p>“That’s right. My specialization was in research piloting.” Her hands clasped nervously on her lap, but that nervousness didn’t show on her face. “My simulator runs were mostly in Ronins and other light-class Titans, but I’m versatile.”</p>
<p>“That’s good to hear. Why research piloting?”</p>
<p>“I think the IMC has enough soldiers. The research side has always interested me more. My mother was a scientist…or that’s what I’ve been told.”</p>
<p>“Ah, war orphan?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry to hear that. Where was she stationed?”</p>
<p>There was nothing strange about the question—not on its face. She shouldn’t have been suspicious. But something about it made her stomach twist. It was a feeling she’d felt before and it <em>never</em> ended well.</p>
<p>"Typhon, originally…" Was it just her, or did the interviewer seem <em>very</em> interested in that detail? "...though she was stationed in a mobile ARES research station after."</p>
<p>"I see." The interviewer wrote something down. "You said you preferred Ronin-class? Is Phase Shift technology a part of your field of study?"</p>
<p>"It is. I've been interested in the more efficient application of the technology, maybe even making it safe for organic use…"</p>
<p>The interviewer nodded. "And is that something your mother studied as well?"</p>
<p><em>Okay, this is getting weird.</em> "I wouldn't know. She died when I was a baby. I don't remember her. Did you know her?" Was this a weird attempt at nepotism? A sympathy hire by an old friend? She'd be willing to milk it if that were the case, but Renee had a feeling it <em>wasn't</em> that.</p>
<p>"Not that I recall. I just like to know what drives our applicants and I've found that family connections are a common motivator." The explanation made sense, she supposed, but something still didn't feel right. "Not looking to follow in her footsteps?"</p>
<p>"I prefer to make my own way." That probably sounded heartless, but it was the truth. She hadn't known her mother, she had no other family ties, nothing to move her forward but her own determination. "I'm sure that's what she'd want for me if she were still alive."</p>
<p>"Of course, of course. Just give me one moment, my notes are having a difficult time loading…”</p>
<p>This could be the opportunity she'd been waiting for. She knew that. Renee had worked so hard and fought so hard and she <em>wanted</em> this job. Even with the shadow the Frontier Wars had thrown over them, ARES was cream of the crop, <em>the</em> place to work for research, especially now that the old guard had been excised. But something in her screamed, <em>run, get out, get out <strong>now.</strong></em></p>
<p>Her gut instincts were rarely wrong. They'd gotten her this far. This had <em>seemed</em> legitimate at first, but now that she was thinking about it, there were all these little things weren't adding up.</p>
<p>The fact that they kept asking about her mother.</p>
<p>The fact that the person who'd called her that morning was a different person than the last HR rep she'd spoken to.</p>
<p>How sudden the whole thing was.</p>
<p>The fact that he'd asked to meet her in one of the more isolated parts of the research facility.</p>
<p>"It looks like everything is settled with your physical...this is recent, yes? Nothing new has come up since, any...abnormalities on past doctor's visits?"</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>get out, now.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>"No," Renee said. Her eyes carefully scanned the room now, looking for exits. Window was a viable option, especially since there was only one door. She'd have to run past the man interviewing her…maybe it would be better to take the door? Get down the hall and towards other people? Assuming the whole building wasn't in on this. "I'm...sorry to ask so late in the interview, but, uhm, which branch of ARES did you say you were with, again?"</p>
<p>The man hesitated.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>go.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Renee jumped to her feet and ran for the door. She heard the man frantically whispering something, watched as the door slid open before she even had the chance to touch it, felt time slow and stretch as a figure standing in it raised a weapon and…</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Brzt.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>She'd been hit with a stun gun before. It was a mandatory part of the training, something about how they needed to understand the pain they might put someone through, to help them consider if its use fell into the category of <em>acceptable force.</em> This hurt a lot worse than that. Her limbs stopped obeying her as she slumped to the ground, body twitching slightly, her body screaming with pain as her mind slowly started slipping into darkness</p>
<p>"Are you sure it's her?" asked a gruff, unfamiliar voice.</p>
<p>"I'm <em>positive</em>," said the man who'd been interviewing her. "Call Marder. Tell him…"</p>
<p>Marder. A name she'd only heard in history books, but one that filled her with dread for some reason. He was dead, she thought, or should've been by now. What did they mean, <em>call Marder?</em></p>
<p>And what did the long-gone head of the old ARES want with her?</p>
<p>A cold thought seized her mind as she was lifted up off the ground--the last cohesive thought that she'd have for a while. It was the realization that the path she was on was wildly different than what she'd assumed—full of predators waiting to strike, to drag her into dark places she didn't even know existed. It was the suspicion that the question marks in her life—two names on a birth certificate, a dozen half-faded memories that didn't quite add up, recurring dreams of hiding under a desk and being sure the monsters were coming for <em>her</em>—had been more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.</p>
<p>It was the certainty that, from here on out, nothing was going to be the same ever again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just as a notice for anyone new here, Wraith's backstory in the "Immortals" timeline (or as I like to call it lately, the Elliott J. timeline) is different than her canon backstory, so if this seems weird to you, that's probably why. Frick what the canon said.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title taken from "Centuries" by Fall Out Boy. I'm on tumblr as screechthemighty for general blogging and Respawn Cinematic Universe for all my Apex content. (Also, don't worry, I won't let this interfere with my work on other fics.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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